CHAPTER IV.
OUR escort had been directed to prepare our abode for the night at the inn,opposite the ascent to the Castle. We could not again visit the halls andfamiliar chambers of our home, on a mere visit. We had already left forever the glades of Windsor, and all of coppice, flowery hedgerow, andmurmuring stream, which gave shape and intensity to the love of ourcountry, and the almost superstitious attachment with which we regardednative England. It had been our intention to have called at Lucy's dwellingin Datchet, and to have re-assured her with promises of aid and protectionbefore we repaired to our quarters for the night. Now, as the Countess ofWindsor and I turned down the steep hill that led from the Castle, we sawthe children, who had just stopped in their caravan, at the inn-door. Theyhad passed through Datchet without halting. I dreaded to meet them, and tobe the bearer of my tragic story, so while they were still occupied in thehurry of arrival, I suddenly left them, and through the snow and clearmoon-light air, hastened along the well known road to Datchet.
Well known indeed it was. Each cottage stood on its accustomed site, eachtree wore its familiar appearance. Habit had graven uneraseably on mymemory, every turn and change of object on the road. At a short distancebeyond the Little Park, was an elm half blown down by a storm, some tenyears ago; and still, with leafless snow-laden branches, it stretchedacross the pathway, which wound through a meadow, beside a shallow brook,whose brawling was silenced by frost--that stile, that white gate, thathollow oak tree, which doubtless once belonged to the forest, and which nowshewed in the moonlight its gaping rent; to whose fanciful appearance,tricked out by the dusk into a resemblance of the human form, the childrenhad given the name of Falstaff;--all these objects were as well known tome as the cold hearth of my deserted home, and every moss-grown wall andplot of orchard ground, alike as twin lambs are to each other in astranger's eye, yet to my accustomed gaze bore differences, distinction,and a name. England remained, though England was dead--it was the ghostof merry England that I beheld, under those greenwood shade passinggenerations had sported in security and ease. To this painful recognitionof familiar places, was added a feeling experienced by all, understood bynone--a feeling as if in some state, less visionary than a dream, in somepast real existence, I had seen all I saw, with precisely the same feelingsas I now beheld them--as if all my sensations were a duplex mirror of aformer revelation. To get rid of this oppressive sense I strove to imaginechange in this tranquil spot--this augmented my mood, by causing me tobestow more attention on the objects which occasioned me pain.
I reached Datchet and Lucy's humble abode--once noisy with Saturday nightrevellers, or trim and neat on Sunday morning it had borne testimony to thelabours and orderly habits of the housewife. The snow lay high about thedoor, as if it had remained unclosed for many days.
"What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?" I muttered to myself asI looked at the dark casements. At first I thought I saw a light in one ofthem, but it proved to be merely the refraction of the moon-beams, whilethe only sound was the crackling branches as the breeze whirred the snowflakes from them--the moon sailed high and unclouded in the interminableether, while the shadow of the cottage lay black on the garden behind. Ientered this by the open wicket, and anxiously examined each window. Atlength I detected a ray of light struggling through a closed shutter in oneof the upper rooms--it was a novel feeling, alas! to look at any houseand say there dwells its usual inmate--the door of the house was merelyon the latch: so I entered and ascended the moon-lit staircase. The door ofthe inhabited room was ajar: looking in, I saw Lucy sitting as at work atthe table on which the light stood; the implements of needlework were abouther, but her hand had fallen on her lap, and her eyes, fixed on the ground,shewed by their vacancy that her thoughts wandered. Traces of care andwatching had diminished her former attractions--but her simple dress andcap, her desponding attitude, and the single candle that cast its lightupon her, gave for a moment a picturesque grouping to the whole. A fearfulreality recalled me from the thought--a figure lay stretched on the bedcovered by a sheet--her mother was dead, and Lucy, apart from all theworld, deserted and alone, watched beside the corpse during the wearynight. I entered the room, and my unexpected appearance at first drew ascream from the lone survivor of a dead nation; but she recognised me, andrecovered herself, with the quick exercise of self-control habitual to her."Did you not expect me?" I asked, in that low voice which the presence ofthe dead makes us as it were instinctively assume.
"You are very good," replied she, "to have come yourself; I can never thankyou sufficiently; but it is too late."
"Too late," cried I, "what do you mean? It is not too late to take you fromthis deserted place, and conduct you to---"
My own loss, which I had forgotten as I spoke, now made me turn away, whilechoking grief impeded my speech. I threw open the window, and looked on thecold, waning, ghastly, misshaped circle on high, and the chill white earthbeneath--did the spirit of sweet Idris sail along the moon-frozen crystalair?--No, no, a more genial atmosphere, a lovelier habitation was surelyhers!
I indulged in this meditation for a moment, and then again addressed themourner, who stood leaning against the bed with that expression of resigneddespair, of complete misery, and a patient sufferance of it, which is farmore touching than any of the insane ravings or wild gesticulation ofuntamed sorrow. I desired to draw her from this spot; but she opposed mywish. That class of persons whose imagination and sensibility have neverbeen taken out of the narrow circle immediately in view, if they possessthese qualities to any extent, are apt to pour their influence into thevery realities which appear to destroy them, and to cling to these withdouble tenacity from not being able to comprehend any thing beyond. ThusLucy, in desert England, in a dead world, wished to fulfil the usualceremonies of the dead, such as were customary to the English countrypeople, when death was a rare visitant, and gave us time to receive hisdreaded usurpation with pomp and circumstance--going forth in processionto deliver the keys of the tomb into his conquering hand. She had already,alone as she was, accomplished some of these, and the work on which I foundher employed, was her mother's shroud. My heart sickened at such detail ofwoe, which a female can endure, but which is more painful to the masculinespirit than deadliest struggle, or throes of unutterable but transientagony.
This must not be, I told her; and then, as further inducement, Icommunicated to her my recent loss, and gave her the idea that she mustcome with me to take charge of the orphan children, whom the death of Idrishad deprived of a mother's care. Lucy never resisted the call of a duty, soshe yielded, and closing the casements and doors with care, she accompaniedme back to Windsor. As we went she communicated to me the occasion of hermother's death. Either by some mischance she had got sight of Lucy's letterto Idris, or she had overheard her conversation with the countryman whobore it; however it might be, she obtained a knowledge of the appallingsituation of herself and her daughter, her aged frame could not sustain theanxiety and horror this discovery instilled--she concealed her knowledgefrom Lucy, but brooded over it through sleepless nights, till fever anddelirium, swift forerunners of death, disclosed the secret. Her life, whichhad long been hovering on its extinction, now yielded at once to the unitedeffects of misery and sickness, and that same morning she had died.
After the tumultuous emotions of the day, I was glad to find on my arrivalat the inn that my companions had retired to rest. I gave Lucy in charge tothe Countess's attendant, and then sought repose from my various strugglesand impatient regrets. For a few moments the events of the day floated indisastrous pageant through my brain, till sleep bathed it in forgetfulness;when morning dawned and I awoke, it seemed as if my slumber had endured foryears.
My companions had not shared my oblivion. Clara's swollen eyes shewed thatshe has passed the night in weeping. The Countess looked haggard and wan.Her firm spirit had not found relief in tears, and she suffered the morefrom all the painful retrospect and agonizing regret that now occupied her.We departed from Windsor, as so
on as the burial rites had been performedfor Lucy's mother, and, urged on by an impatient desire to change thescene, went forward towards Dover with speed, our escort having gone beforeto provide horses; finding them either in the warm stables theyinstinctively sought during the cold weather, or standing shivering in thebleak fields ready to surrender their liberty in exchange for offeredcorn.
During our ride the Countess recounted to me the extraordinarycircumstances which had brought her so strangely to my side in the chancelof St. George's chapel. When last she had taken leave of Idris, as shelooked anxiously on her faded person and pallid countenance, she hadsuddenly been visited by a conviction that she saw her for the last time.It was hard to part with her while under the dominion of this sentiment,and for the last time she endeavoured to persuade her daughter to commitherself to her nursing, permitting me to join Adrian. Idris mildly refused,and thus they separated. The idea that they should never again meet grew onthe Countess's mind, and haunted her perpetually; a thousand times she hadresolved to turn back and join us, and was again and again restrained bythe pride and anger of which she was the slave. Proud of heart as she was,she bathed her pillow with nightly tears, and through the day was subduedby nervous agitation and expectation of the dreaded event, which she waswholly incapable of curbing. She confessed that at this period her hatredof me knew no bounds, since she considered me as the sole obstacle to thefulfilment of her dearest wish, that of attending upon her daughter in herlast moments. She desired to express her fears to her son, and to seekconsolation from his sympathy with, or courage from his rejection of, herauguries.
On the first day of her arrival at Dover she walked with him on the seabeach, and with the timidity characteristic of passionate and exaggeratedfeeling was by degrees bringing the conversation to the desired point, whenshe could communicate her fears to him, when the messenger who bore myletter announcing our temporary return to Windsor, came riding down tothem. He gave some oral account of how he had left us, and added, thatnotwithstanding the cheerfulness and good courage of Lady Idris, he wasafraid that she would hardly reach Windsor alive. "True," said the Countess,"your fears are just, she is about to expire!"
As she spoke, her eyes were fixed on a tomblike hollow of the cliff, andshe saw, she averred the same to me with solemnity, Idris pacing slowlytowards this cave. She was turned from her, her head was bent down, herwhite dress was such as she was accustomed to wear, except that a thincrape-like veil covered her golden tresses, and concealed her as a dimtransparent mist. She looked dejected, as docilely yielding to a commandingpower; she submissively entered, and was lost in the dark recess.
"Were I subject to visionary moods," said the venerable lady, as shecontinued her narrative, "I might doubt my eyes, and condemn my credulity;but reality is the world I live in, and what I saw I doubt not hadexistence beyond myself. From that moment I could not rest; it was worth myexistence to see her once again before she died; I knew that I should notaccomplish this, yet I must endeavour. I immediately departed for Windsor;and, though I was assured that we travelled speedily, it seemed to me thatour progress was snail-like, and that delays were created solely for myannoyance. Still I accused you, and heaped on your head the fiery ashes ofmy burning impatience. It was no disappointment, though an agonizing pang,when you pointed to her last abode; and words would ill express theabhorrence I that moment felt towards you, the triumphant impediment to mydearest wishes. I saw her, and anger, and hate, and injustice died at herbier, giving place at their departure to a remorse (Great God, that Ishould feel it!) which must last while memory and feeling endure."
To medicine such remorse, to prevent awakening love and new-born mildnessfrom producing the same bitter fruit that hate and harshness had done, Idevoted all my endeavours to soothe the venerable penitent. Our party was amelancholy one; each was possessed by regret for what was remediless; forthe absence of his mother shadowed even the infant gaiety of Evelyn. Addedto this was the prospect of the uncertain future. Before the finalaccomplishment of any great voluntary change the mind vacillates, nowsoothing itself by fervent expectation, now recoiling from obstacles whichseem never to have presented themselves before with so frightful an aspect.An involuntary tremor ran through me when I thought that in another day wemight have crossed the watery barrier, and have set forward on thathopeless, interminable, sad wandering, which but a short time before Iregarded as the only relief to sorrow that our situation afforded.
Our approach to Dover was announced by the loud roarings of the wintry sea.They were borne miles inland by the sound-laden blast, and by theirunaccustomed uproar, imparted a feeling of insecurity and peril to ourstable abode. At first we hardly permitted ourselves to think that anyunusual eruption of nature caused this tremendous war of air and water, butrather fancied that we merely listened to what we had heard a thousandtimes before, when we had watched the flocks of fleece-crowned waves,driven by the winds, come to lament and die on the barren sands and pointedrocks. But we found upon advancing farther, that Dover was overflowed--many of the houses were overthrown by the surges which filled the streets,and with hideous brawlings sometimes retreated leaving the pavement of thetown bare, till again hurried forward by the influx of ocean, they returnedwith thunder-sound to their usurped station.
Hardly less disturbed than the tempestuous world of waters was the assemblyof human beings, that from the cliff fearfully watched its ravings. On themorning of the arrival of the emigrants under the conduct of Adrian, thesea had been serene and glassy, the slight ripples refracted the sunbeams,which shed their radiance through the clear blue frosty air. This placidappearance of nature was hailed as a good augury for the voyage, and thechief immediately repaired to the harbour to examine two steamboats whichwere moored there. On the following midnight, when all were at rest, afrightful storm of wind and clattering rain and hail first disturbed them,and the voice of one shrieking in the streets, that the sleepers must awakeor they would be drowned; and when they rushed out, half clothed, todiscover the meaning of this alarm, they found that the tide, rising aboveevery mark, was rushing into the town. They ascended the cliff, but thedarkness permitted only the white crest of waves to be seen, while theroaring wind mingled its howlings in dire accord with the wild surges. Theawful hour of night, the utter inexperience of many who had never seen thesea before, the wailing of women and cries of children added to the horrorof the tumult. All the following day the same scene continued. When the tideebbed, the town was left dry; but on its flow, it rose even higher than onthe preceding night. The vast ships that lay rotting in the roads werewhirled from their anchorage, and driven and jammed against the cliff, thevessels in the harbour were flung on land like sea-weed, and there batteredto pieces by the breakers. The waves dashed against the cliff, which if inany place it had been before loosened, now gave way, and the affrightedcrowd saw vast fragments of the near earth fall with crash and roar intothe deep. This sight operated differently on different persons. The greaterpart thought it a judgment of God, to prevent or punish our emigration fromour native land. Many were doubly eager to quit a nook of ground now becometheir prison, which appeared unable to resist the inroads of ocean's giantwaves.
When we arrived at Dover, after a fatiguing day's journey, we all requiredrest and sleep; but the scene acting around us soon drove away such ideas.We were drawn, along with the greater part of our companions, to the edgeof the cliff, there to listen to and make a thousand conjectures. A fognarrowed our horizon to about a quarter of a mile, and the misty veil, coldand dense, enveloped sky and sea in equal obscurity. What added to ourinquietude was the circumstance that two-thirds of our original number werenow waiting for us in Paris, and clinging, as we now did most painfully, toany addition to our melancholy remnant, this division, with the tamelessimpassable ocean between, struck us with affright. At length, afterloitering for several hours on the cliff, we retired to Dover Castle, whoseroof sheltered all who breathed the English air, and sought the sleepnecessary to restore strength and courage to
our worn frames and languidspirits.
Early in the morning Adrian brought me the welcome intelligence that thewind had changed: it had been south-west; it was now north-east. The skywas stripped bare of clouds by the increasing gale, while the tide at itsebb seceded entirely from the town. The change of wind rather increased thefury of the sea, but it altered its late dusky hue to a bright green; andin spite of its unmitigated clamour, its more cheerful appearance instilledhope and pleasure. All day we watched the ranging of the mountainous waves,and towards sunset a desire to decypher the promise for the morrow at itssetting, made us all gather with one accord on the edge of the cliff. Whenthe mighty luminary approached within a few degrees of the tempest-tossedhorizon, suddenly, a wonder! three other suns, alike burning and brilliant,rushed from various quarters of the heavens towards the great orb; theywhirled round it. The glare of light was intense to our dazzled eyes; thesun itself seemed to join in the dance, while the sea burned like afurnace, like all Vesuvius a-light, with flowing lava beneath. The horsesbroke loose from their stalls in terror--a herd of cattle, panic struck,raced down to the brink of the cliff, and blinded by light, plunged downwith frightful yells in the waves below. The time occupied by theapparition of these meteors was comparatively short; suddenly the threemock suns united in one, and plunged into the sea. A few secondsafterwards, a deafening watery sound came up with awful peal from the spotwhere they had disappeared.
Meanwhile the sun, disencumbered from his strange satellites, paced withits accustomed majesty towards its western home. When--we dared not trustour eyes late dazzled, but it seemed that--the sea rose to meet it--itmounted higher and higher, till the fiery globe was obscured, and the wallof water still ascended the horizon; it appeared as if suddenly the motionof earth was revealed to us--as if no longer we were ruled by ancientlaws, but were turned adrift in an unknown region of space. Many criedaloud, that these were no meteors, but globes of burning matter, which hadset fire to the earth, and caused the vast cauldron at our feet to bubbleup with its measureless waves; the day of judgment was come they averred,and a few moments would transport us before the awful countenance of theomnipotent judge; while those less given to visionary terrors, declaredthat two conflicting gales had occasioned the last phaenomenon. In supportof this opinion they pointed out the fact that the east wind died away,while the rushing of the coming west mingled its wild howl with the roar ofthe advancing waters. Would the cliff resist this new battery? Was not thegiant wave far higher than the precipice? Would not our little island bedeluged by its approach? The crowd of spectators fled. They were dispersedover the fields, stopping now and then, and looking back in terror. Asublime sense of awe calmed the swift pulsations of my heart--I awaitedthe approach of the destruction menaced, with that solemn resignation whichan unavoidable necessity instils. The ocean every moment assumed a moreterrific aspect, while the twilight was dimmed by the rack which the westwind spread over the sky. By slow degrees however, as the wave advanced, ittook a more mild appearance; some under current of air, or obstruction inthe bed of the waters, checked its progress, and it sank gradually; whilethe surface of the sea became uniformly higher as it dissolved into it.This change took from us the fear of an immediate catastrophe, although wewere still anxious as to the final result. We continued during the wholenight to watch the fury of the sea and the pace of the driving clouds,through whose openings the rare stars rushed impetuously; the thunder ofconflicting elements deprived us of all power to sleep.
This endured ceaselessly for three days and nights. The stoutest heartsquailed before the savage enmity of nature; provisions began to fail us,though every day foraging parties were dispersed to the nearer towns. Invain we schooled ourselves into the belief, that there was nothing out ofthe common order of nature in the strife we witnessed; our disasterous andoverwhelming destiny turned the best of us to cowards. Death had hunted usthrough the course of many months, even to the narrow strip of time onwhich we now stood; narrow indeed, and buffeted by storms, was our footwayoverhanging the great sea of calamity--
As an unsheltered northern shore Is shaken by the wintry wave-- And frequent storms for evermore, (While from the west the loud winds rave, Or from the east, or mountains hoar) The struck and tott'ring sand-bank lave.[1]
It required more than human energy to bear up against the menaces ofdestruction that every where surrounded us.
After the lapse of three days, the gale died away, the sea-gull sailed uponthe calm bosom of the windless atmosphere, and the last yellow leaf on thetopmost branch of the oak hung without motion. The sea no longer broke withfury; but a swell setting in steadily for shore, with long sweep and sullenburst replaced the roar of the breakers. Yet we derived hope from thechange, and we did not doubt that after the interval of a few days the seawould resume its tranquillity. The sunset of the fourth day favoured thisidea; it was clear and golden. As we gazed on the purple sea, radiantbeneath, we were attracted by a novel spectacle; a dark speck--as itneared, visibly a boat--rode on the top of the waves, every now and thenlost in the steep vallies between. We marked its course with eagerquestionings; and, when we saw that it evidently made for shore, wedescended to the only practicable landing place, and hoisted a signal todirect them. By the help of glasses we distinguished her crew; it consistedof nine men, Englishmen, belonging in truth to the two divisions of ourpeople, who had preceded us, and had been for several weeks at Paris. Ascountryman was wont to meet countryman in distant lands, did we greet ourvisitors on their landing, with outstretched hands and gladsome welcome.They were slow to reciprocate our gratulations. They looked angry andresentful; not less than the chafed sea which they had traversed withimminent peril, though apparently more displeased with each other than withus. It was strange to see these human beings, who appeared to be givenforth by the earth like rare and inestimable plants, full of toweringpassion, and the spirit of angry contest. Their first demand was to beconducted to the Lord Protector of England, so they called Adrian, thoughhe had long discarded the empty title, as a bitter mockery of the shadow towhich the Protectorship was now reduced. They were speedily led to DoverCastle, from whose keep Adrian had watched the movements of the boat. Hereceived them with the interest and wonder so strange a visitation created.In the confusion occasioned by their angry demands for precedence, it waslong before we could discover the secret meaning of this strange scene. Bydegrees, from the furious declamations of one, the fierce interruptions ofanother, and the bitter scoffs of a third, we found that they were deputiesfrom our colony at Paris, from three parties there formed, who, each withangry rivalry, tried to attain a superiority over the other two. Thesedeputies had been dispatched by them to Adrian, who had been selectedarbiter; and they had journied from Paris to Calais, through the vacanttowns and desolate country, indulging the while violent hatred against eachother; and now they pleaded their several causes with unmitigatedparty-spirit.
By examining the deputies apart, and after much investigation, we learntthe true state of things at Paris. Since parliament had elected himRyland's deputy, all the surviving English had submitted to Adrian. He wasour captain to lead us from our native soil to unknown lands, our lawgiverand our preserver. On the first arrangement of our scheme of emigration, nocontinued separation of our members was contemplated, and the command ofthe whole body in gradual ascent of power had its apex in the Earl ofWindsor. But unforeseen circumstances changed our plans for us, andoccasioned the greater part of our numbers to be divided for the space ofnearly two months, from the supreme chief. They had gone over in twodistinct bodies; and on their arrival at Paris dissension arose betweenthem.
They had found Paris a desert. When first the plague had appeared, thereturn of travellers and merchants, and communications by letter, informedus regularly of the ravages made by disease on the continent. But with theencreased mortality this intercourse declined and ceased. Even in Englanditself communication from one part of the island to the other became slowand rare. No vessel stemmed the flood that di
vided Calais from Dover; or ifsome melancholy voyager, wishing to assure himself of the life or death ofhis relatives, put from the French shore to return among us, often thegreedy ocean swallowed his little craft, or after a day or two he wasinfected by the disorder, and died before he could tell the tale of thedesolation of France. We were therefore to a great degree ignorant of thestate of things on the continent, and were not without some vague hope offinding numerous companions in its wide track. But the same causes that hadso fearfully diminished the English nation had had even greater scope formischief in the sister land. France was a blank; during the long line ofroad from Calais to Paris not one human being was found. In Paris therewere a few, perhaps a hundred, who, resigned to their coming fate, flittedabout the streets of the capital and assembled to converse of past times,with that vivacity and even gaiety that seldom deserts the individuals ofthis nation.
The English took uncontested possession of Paris. Its high houses andnarrow streets were lifeless. A few pale figures were to be distinguishedat the accustomed resort at the Tuileries; they wondered wherefore theislanders should approach their ill-fated city--for in the excess ofwretchedness, the sufferers always imagine, that their part of the calamityis the bitterest, as, when enduring intense pain, we would exchange theparticular torture we writhe under, for any other which should visit adifferent part of the frame. They listened to the account the emigrantsgave of their motives for leaving their native land, with a shrug almost ofdisdain--"Return," they said, "return to your island, whose sea breezes,and division from the continent gives some promise of health; if Pestilenceamong you has slain its hundreds, with us it has slain its thousands. Areyou not even now more numerous than we are?--A year ago you would havefound only the sick burying the dead; now we are happier; for the pang ofstruggle has passed away, and the few you find here are patiently waitingthe final blow. But you, who are not content to die, breathe no longer theair of France, or soon you will only be a part of her soil."
Thus, by menaces of the sword, they would have driven back those who hadescaped from fire. But the peril left behind was deemed imminent by mycountrymen; that before them doubtful and distant; and soon other feelingsarose to obliterate fear, or to replace it by passions, that ought to havehad no place among a brotherhood of unhappy survivors of the expiringworld.
The more numerous division of emigrants, which arrived first at Paris,assumed a superiority of rank and power; the second party asserted theirindependence. A third was formed by a sectarian, a self-erected prophet,who, while he attributed all power and rule to God, strove to get the realcommand of his comrades into his own hands. This third division consistedof fewest individuals, but their purpose was more one, their obedience totheir leader more entire, their fortitude and courage more unyielding andactive.
During the whole progress of the plague, the teachers of religion were inpossession of great power; a power of good, if rightly directed, or ofincalculable mischief, if fanaticism or intolerance guided their efforts.In the present instance, a worse feeling than either of these actuated theleader. He was an impostor in the most determined sense of the term. A manwho had in early life lost, through the indulgence of vicious propensities,all sense of rectitude or self-esteem; and who, when ambition was awakenedin him, gave himself up to its influence unbridled by any scruple. Hisfather had been a methodist preacher, an enthusiastic man with simpleintentions; but whose pernicious doctrines of election and special gracehad contributed to destroy all conscientious feeling in his son. During theprogress of the pestilence he had entered upon various schemes, by which toacquire adherents and power. Adrian had discovered and defeated theseattempts; but Adrian was absent; the wolf assumed the shepherd's garb, andthe flock admitted the deception: he had formed a party during the fewweeks he had been in Paris, who zealously propagated the creed of hisdivine mission, and believed that safety and salvation were to be affordedonly to those who put their trust in him.
When once the spirit of dissension had arisen, the most frivolous causesgave it activity. The first party, on arriving at Paris, had takenpossession of the Tuileries; chance and friendly feeling had induced thesecond to lodge near to them. A contest arose concerning the distributionof the pillage; the chiefs of the first division demanded that the wholeshould be placed at their disposal; with this assumption the opposite partyrefused to comply. When next the latter went to forage, the gates of Pariswere shut on them. After overcoming this difficulty, they marched in a bodyto the Tuileries. They found that their enemies had been already expelledthence by the Elect, as the fanatical party designated themselves, whorefused to admit any into the palace who did not first abjure obedience toall except God, and his delegate on earth, their chief. Such was thebeginning of the strife, which at length proceeded so far, that the threedivisions, armed, met in the Place Vendome, each resolved to subdue byforce the resistance of its adversaries. They assembled, their muskets wereloaded, and even pointed at the breasts of their so called enemies. Oneword had been sufficient; and there the last of mankind would haveburthened their souls with the crime of murder, and dipt their hands ineach other's blood. A sense of shame, a recollection that not only theircause, but the existence of the whole human race was at stake, entered thebreast of the leader of the more numerous party. He was aware, that if theranks were thinned, no other recruits could fill them up; that each man wasas a priceless gem in a kingly crown, which if destroyed, the earth's deepentrails could yield no paragon. He was a young man, and had been hurriedon by presumption, and the notion of his high rank and superiority to allother pretenders; now he repented his work, he felt that all the bloodabout to be shed would be on his head; with sudden impulse therefore hespurred his horse between the bands, and, having fixed a white handkerchiefon the point of his uplifted sword, thus demanded parley; the oppositeleaders obeyed the signal. He spoke with warmth; he reminded them of theoath all the chiefs had taken to submit to the Lord Protector; he declaredtheir present meeting to be an act of treason and mutiny; he allowed thathe had been hurried away by passion, but that a cooler moment had arrived;and he proposed that each party should send deputies to the Earl ofWindsor, inviting his interference and offering submission to his decision.His offer was accepted so far, that each leader consented to command aretreat, and moreover agreed, that after the approbation of their severalparties had been consulted, they should meet that night on some neutralspot to ratify the truce. At the meeting of the chiefs, this plan wasfinally concluded upon. The leader of the fanatics indeed refused to admitthe arbitration of Adrian; he sent ambassadors, rather than deputies, toassert his claim, not plead his cause.
The truce was to continue until the first of February, when the bands wereagain to assemble on the Place Vendome; it was of the utmost consequencetherefore that Adrian should arrive in Paris by that day, since an hairmight turn the scale, and peace, scared away by intestine broils, mightonly return to watch by the silent dead. It was now the twenty-eighth ofJanuary; every vessel stationed near Dover had been beaten to pieces anddestroyed by the furious storms I have commemorated. Our journey howeverwould admit of no delay. That very night, Adrian, and I, and twelve others,either friends or attendants, put off from the English shore, in the boatthat had brought over the deputies. We all took our turn at the oar; andthe immediate occasion of our departure affording us abundant matter forconjecture and discourse, prevented the feeling that we left our nativecountry, depopulate England, for the last time, to enter deeply into theminds of the greater part of our number. It was a serene starlight night,and the dark line of the English coast continued for some time visible atintervals, as we rose on the broad back of the waves. I exerted myself withmy long oar to give swift impulse to our skiff; and, while the waterssplashed with melancholy sound against its sides, I looked with sadaffection on this last glimpse of sea-girt England, and strained my eyesnot too soon to lose sight of the castellated cliff, which rose to protectthe land of heroism and beauty from the inroads of ocean, that, turbulentas I had lately seen it, re
quired such cyclopean walls for its repulsion. Asolitary sea-gull winged its flight over our heads, to seek its nest in acleft of the precipice. Yes, thou shalt revisit the land of thy birth, Ithought, as I looked invidiously on the airy voyager; but we shall, nevermore! Tomb of Idris, farewell! Grave, in which my heart lies sepultured,farewell for ever!
We were twelve hours at sea, and the heavy swell obliged us to exert allour strength. At length, by mere dint of rowing, we reached the Frenchcoast. The stars faded, and the grey morning cast a dim veil over thesilver horns of the waning moon--the sun rose broad and red from the sea,as we walked over the sands to Calais. Our first care was to procurehorses, and although wearied by our night of watching and toil, some of ourparty immediately went in quest of these in the wide fields of theunenclosed and now barren plain round Calais. We divided ourselves, likeseamen, into watches, and some reposed, while others prepared the morning'srepast. Our foragers returned at noon with only six horses--on these,Adrian and I, and four others, proceeded on our journey towards the greatcity, which its inhabitants had fondly named the capital of the civilizedworld. Our horses had become, through their long holiday, almost wild, andwe crossed the plain round Calais with impetuous speed. From the heightnear Boulogne, I turned again to look on England; nature had cast a mistypall over her, her cliff was hidden--there was spread the watery barrierthat divided us, never again to be crossed; she lay on the ocean plain,
In the great pool a swan's nest.
Ruined the nest, alas! the swans of Albion had passed away for ever--anuninhabited rock in the wide Pacific, which had remained since thecreation uninhabited, unnamed, unmarked, would be of as much account inthe world's future history, as desert England.
Our journey was impeded by a thousand obstacles. As our horses grew tired,we had to seek for others; and hours were wasted, while we exhausted ourartifices to allure some of these enfranchised slaves of man to resume theyoke; or as we went from stable to stable through the towns, hoping to findsome who had not forgotten the shelter of their native stalls. Our illsuccess in procuring them, obliged us continually to leave some one of ourcompanions behind; and on the first of February, Adrian and I enteredParis, wholly unaccompanied. The serene morning had dawned when we arrivedat Saint Denis, and the sun was high, when the clamour of voices, and theclash, as we feared, of weapons, guided us to where our countrymen hadassembled on the Place Vendome. We passed a knot of Frenchmen, who weretalking earnestly of the madness of the insular invaders, and then comingby a sudden turn upon the Place, we saw the sun glitter on drawn swords andfixed bayonets, while yells and clamours rent the air. It was a scene ofunaccustomed confusion in these days of depopulation. Roused by fanciedwrongs, and insulting scoffs, the opposite parties had rushed to attackeach other; while the elect, drawn up apart, seemed to wait an opportunityto fall with better advantage on their foes, when they should have mutuallyweakened each other. A merciful power interposed, and no blood was shed;for, while the insane mob were in the very act of attack, the females,wives, mothers and daughters, rushed between; they seized the bridles; theyembraced the knees of the horsemen, and hung on the necks, or enweaponedarms of their enraged relatives; the shrill female scream was mingled withthe manly shout, and formed the wild clamour that welcomed us on ourarrival.
Our voices could not be heard in the tumult; Adrian however was eminent forthe white charger he rode; spurring him, he dashed into the midst of thethrong: he was recognized, and a loud cry raised for England and theProtector. The late adversaries, warmed to affection at the sight of him,joined in heedless confusion, and surrounded him; the women kissed hishands, and the edges of his garments; nay, his horse received tribute oftheir embraces; some wept their welcome; he appeared an angel of peacedescended among them; and the only danger was, that his mortal nature wouldbe demonstrated, by his suffocation from the kindness of his friends. Hisvoice was at length heard, and obeyed; the crowd fell back; the chiefsalone rallied round him. I had seen Lord Raymond ride through his lines;his look of victory, and majestic mien obtained the respect and obedienceof all: such was not the appearance or influence of Adrian. His slightfigure, his fervent look, his gesture, more of deprecation than rule, wereproofs that love, unmingled with fear, gave him dominion over the hearts ofa multitude, who knew that he never flinched from danger, nor was actuatedby other motives than care for the general welfare. No distinction was nowvisible between the two parties, late ready to shed each other's blood,for, though neither would submit to the other, they both yielded readyobedience to the Earl of Windsor.
One party however remained, cut off from the rest, which did not sympathizein the joy exhibited on Adrian's arrival, or imbibe the spirit of peace,which fell like dew upon the softened hearts of their countrymen. At thehead of this assembly was a ponderous, dark-looking man, whose malign eyesurveyed with gloating delight the stern looks of his followers. They hadhitherto been inactive, but now, perceiving themselves to be forgotten inthe universal jubilee, they advanced with threatening gestures: our friendshad, as it were in wanton contention, attacked each other; they wanted butto be told that their cause was one, for it to become so: their mutualanger had been a fire of straw, compared to the slow-burning hatred theyboth entertained for these seceders, who seized a portion of the world tocome, there to entrench and incastellate themselves, and to issue withfearful sally, and appalling denunciations, on the mere common children ofthe earth. The first advance of the little army of the elect reawakenedtheir rage; they grasped their arms, and waited but their leader's signalto commence the attack, when the clear tones of Adrian's voice were heard,commanding them to fall back; with confused murmur and hurried retreat, asthe wave ebbs clamorously from the sands it lately covered, our friendsobeyed. Adrian rode singly into the space between the opposing bands; heapproached the hostile leader, as requesting him to imitate his example,but his look was not obeyed, and the chief advanced, followed by his wholetroop. There were many women among them, who seemed more eager and resolutethan their male companions. They pressed round their leader, as if toshield him, while they loudly bestowed on him every sacred denomination andepithet of worship. Adrian met them half way; they halted: "What," he said,"do you seek? Do you require any thing of us that we refuse to give, andthat you are forced to acquire by arms and warfare?"
His questions were answered by a general cry, in which the words election,sin, and red right arm of God, could alone be heard.
Adrian looked expressly at their leader, saying, "Can you not silence yourfollowers? Mine, you perceive, obey me."
The fellow answered by a scowl; and then, perhaps fearful that his peopleshould become auditors of the debate he expected to ensue, he commandedthem to fall back, and advanced by himself. "What, I again ask," saidAdrian, "do you require of us?"
"Repentance," replied the man, whose sinister brow gathered clouds as hespoke. "Obedience to the will of the Most High, made manifest to these hisElected People. Do we not all die through your sins, O generation ofunbelief, and have we not a right to demand of you repentance andobedience?"
"And if we refuse them, what then?" his opponent inquired mildly.
"Beware," cried the man, "God hears you, and will smite your stony heart inhis wrath; his poisoned arrows fly, his dogs of death are unleashed! Wewill not perish unrevenged--and mighty will our avenger be, when hedescends in visible majesty, and scatters destruction among you."
"My good fellow," said Adrian, with quiet scorn, "I wish that you wereignorant only, and I think it would be no difficult task to prove to you,that you speak of what you do not understand. On the present occasionhowever, it is enough for me to know that you seek nothing of us; and,heaven is our witness, we seek nothing of you. I should be sorry toembitter by strife the few days that we any of us may have here to live;when there," he pointed downwards, "we shall not be able to contend, whilehere we need not. Go home, or stay; pray to your God in your own mode; yourfriends may do the like. My orisons consist in peace and good will, inresignation and hope. Farewe
ll!"
He bowed slightly to the angry disputant who was about to reply; and,turning his horse down Rue Saint Honore, called on his friends to followhim. He rode slowly, to give time to all to join him at the Barrier, andthen issued his orders that those who yielded obedience to him, shouldrendezvous at Versailles. In the meantime he remained within the walls ofParis, until he had secured the safe retreat of all. In about a fortnightthe remainder of the emigrants arrived from England, and they all repairedto Versailles; apartments were prepared for the family of the Protector inthe Grand Trianon, and there, after the excitement of these events, wereposed amidst the luxuries of the departed Bourbons.
[1] Chorus in Oedipus Coloneus.